


Fill the holes (with more cement)

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [30]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: He feels shaky; his teeth are chattering even though he’s not cold.  Bucky wants Steve to come back, to lie beside him and make everything that’s wrong feel right again.  He also wants Steve to stay away, maybe never come back at all.  Because Bucky doesn’t deserve him.  He doesn’t deserve anything.  He doesn’t deserve the air he’s breathing.  He doesn’t deserve to live–_______________________________________Or ---Depressed Bucky needs a gentle presence to help him through his sick day.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/760377
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	Fill the holes (with more cement)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Steve says into the phone. Across the kitchen table, Bucky cringes. He wants to drop his forehead to the table, but that seems like the wrong thing to do. It would probably hurt, but that doesn’t matter. Steve wouldn’t like it. And that kind of does.

“I’m,” Steve sighs. “I’m literally out of options. I have…” He checks his watch. “Like, an hour of sick leave left. I can be a little late, but that’s it.”

He glances up from pen and paper he’s fiddling with, but Bucky doesn’t meet his eye. 

“And I can’t teleport,” Bucky hears a female voice reply on the other end of the line. “I’ll be there, ok? And I’ll speed. But it’ll still take a couple hours.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah. Ok.”

“Is he safe alone?” the woman asks.

Bucky cringes as Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “Laura, I don’t have a choice. At first SHIELD was pretty accommodating with FMLA and stuff, but they’re at the end of their rope with me. I’m about to be let go for attendance problems, and my part of the project’s getting fucked up– ” 

“Steve.”

He wrings the hand not holding the phone to his ear, then brings it in to rub his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Get him settled. I’ll be there.. I can call you from the road if that helps.”

“Can’t,” Steve says apologetically. “But thank you. You’re amazing. You’re my savior.” He clamps the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he picks up his work bag and tries to button the top button of his shirt at the same time. 

“Shut up. Go to work. I’ll be there.”

The call ends, and Steve tosses the phone into the front pocket of his bag. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, then turns to Bucky, who is still refusing to look at him. 

It’s not that Bucky minds being talked about like a dog or a little kid, because he knows that’s about what he’s worth. He just wishes he wasn’t letting Steve down so badly. Project be damned, it’s his life that’s getting fucked up. And it’s all Bucky’s fault.

“You wanna come sit? Watch a movie?” Steve coaxes hurriedly, turning on the television and flipping channels until he finds something in black and white. “Get your mind engaged in something?”

He’s trying. Bucky can’t fault him for it. But there’s just about nothing he’d like to do less than scoot back his hard wooden chair and drag his feet across the carpet to settle in the corner of the cold leather sofa. 

Steve throws a blanket over the pale leather upholstery. “Come on, Buck,” he says, almost pleading. “Just come over here and sit. You’re nice and safe.”

Bucky turns his head a fraction of an inch to get a better look at Steve’s face. He can read in the lines between his eyebrows exactly what he’s not saying. You’re far away from the knives. The pills. The bathtub and the sink and the cord for the weedwhacker. 

And that’s what makes him break. He feels sorry for Steve, frantic and caring and protective all at once. He feels bad because it’s all his fault. Sour guilt burns at the back of Bucky’s throat and threatens to wash up into his mouth. 

He grits his teeth and slowly nods. Getting a move on would be more respectful, more considerate of Steve’s situation. He could say, “of course, babe, I know you have to get to work.” But that would involve cobbling together words he doesn’t have and speaking with a voice he doesn’t seem to possess. 

“Hm,” Bucky manages when he finally sinks into the nest Steve has created at the end of the couch. He means to say “thanks” as well, but his mouth is stringy with spit, and it comes out as just, “Ks.”

Steve creates his own interpretation and leans forward, gently petting Bucky’s hair and planting a kiss on the top of his crown. 

It feels comforting. Too comforting, so Bucky pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head.

“Alright,” Steve says softly, a note of hurt in his voice. “Laura will be here soon. She has a key, so she’ll just let herself in.”

“Hm.”

“Ok. I’ll see you this afternoon? Well, tonight, probably, with this dumb project…” 

Bucky watches Steve shake his head, as if clearing water from his ears so he can focus. He does need to focus. On the actual important things. 

“K.”

“Love you, Buck.” Steve gives him a soft smile, then all but sprints out the door. 

Once the sound of Steve’s bike leaves the driveway, Bucky lets his body go slack, his stump shoulder burrowing into the crack between the back of the couch and the arm. The blanket rumples and creates a makeshift pillow, and he brings his knees up against his chest, securing them loosely with his right arm. 

He feels shaky; his teeth are chattering even though he’s not cold. Bucky wants Steve to come back, to lie beside him and make everything that’s wrong feel right again. He also wants Steve to stay away, maybe never come back at all. Because Bucky doesn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve anything. He doesn’t deserve the air he’s breathing. He doesn’t deserve to live–

Time must’ve passed as he sat there, curled against the arm of the sofa and wondering where in the house Steve had hidden his prescriptions this time, because it seems like barely a second later the door is opening and a soft, high voice is calling his name.

“James?” 

“I’m–” A bubble of thick saliva bursts in Bucky’s throat and steals the rest of his sentence. Or at least it would’ve if he’d had any more he wanted to say.

“Yeah,” Laura says. “I see you.” Keys and grocery bags hit the counter, then soft slippered feet approach his couch nest. 

Bucky doesn’t move. He isn’t sure he can; he has no drive, no energy. The force required to sit up and say hello seems equal to that needed to swallow a handful of pills. 

“Can I sit with you?” 

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to mull it over, but the words still take a long time coming. “’S fine.” 

“Alright.” She sits, then pauses. “Is it ok to touch you? Put my hand on your shoulder?’

“Hm. K.”

“Ok.” Laura gently lays a hand on his back, just behind the joint. The pressure is light, but the presence makes him feel lighter. A little bit, anyway. It’s possible to lift his head without the assistance of a forklift, so Bucky does and blinks up at her with glassy eyes.

“Hi,” Laura whispers to him. 

Bucky mouths the word back, but no sound comes out. 

“You’re all scrunched up in the corner,” Laura says, nodding to the wrinkled blanket bunched under James’s head. “Do you want to try lying down?” She takes a throw pillow from the opposite end of the couch and offers it to him. 

Bucky blinks slowly and takes inventory. His lower back is beginning to protest the tightly curled position, and while it makes him feel warm and safe, it’s no longer worth the mounting level of discomfort. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“Ok. Here you go.” With a feather-light touch, Laura sits Bucky up and removes the blanket from beneath him as he scoots down and re-settles in a properly reclined position. Her hand slide past his armpit and the other catches the base of his neck. Laura frowns.

“James?”

“M?”

“You’re really warm. Are you feeling ok?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek until it hurts. “Not…not really.”

“I mean…” Laura carefully brushes Bucky’s bangs out of his face to feel his forehead. “You’re definitely feverish. Are you feeling sick?”

“I…don’t know.” Bucky’s so used to feeling terrible that he’s forgotten how to differentiate the mental from the physical.

“It’s alright,” Laura says. She kneels on the carpet at Bucky’s shoulder and folds her arms on the edge of the couch cushion, then rests her chin on the backs of her hands. “Do you want to take inventory?”

“Like, make a list?” Bucky asks slowly. It’s a technique emphasized in his therapy sessions. He wonders if Steve’s gotten to Laura and suggested she work with him specifically on it. Or if Laura’s been to therapy. Or if it’s just a good idea to begin with and Laura’s a smart cookie.

Bucky has to stop thinking because it’s making his head throb.

“Sure, like a list.” Laura smiles. “Now, how’s your head?”

“Hurts.”

“A lot or a little?”

Bucky pauses to think about it. Nothing like a migraine, but it’s not peanuts either. “In between?”

“Stuffy nose?” Laura continues?

“Uh.” Bucky sniffs. There’s no dripping snot, but his breathing does feel slightly constricted. No wonder he’s been feeling like he’s been caught up in ropes wrapped round his chest. “Stuffy…” He gestures vaguely from his forehead down to his sternum.

“Ah,” Laura nods. “The sinuses acting up? Maybe a bit of chest congestion to go with it?”

Bucky blinks his affirmation, deciding against nodding should his aching head take the opportunity to play up. 

“Ok. Stomach?” Laura looks at him in all seriousness.

As if on cue, Bucky’s gut seems to fold itself in half, making a low rumble and sending a warning shot of hot sourness up into the back of his throat. He isn’t sure if Laura heard it, so he surreptitiously wraps his arms around his abdomen and presses his vibrating teeth together. 

“James?”

“Hm. Not, uh. Not good.”

“Do you feel like you could throw up?” Laura isn’t phased in the slightest.

Bucky swallows hard at the mention, then gives a minute nod.

“Ok.” Laura rises to her feet. “Give me one second.” 

She disappears for a moment, presumably to the upstairs bathroom, because when she returns, she has the trash can, the thermometer, and several bottles and boxes of medicine. 

“Alright,” Laura says, resuming her crouch. “I gotta know how high that fever is.” She removes the thermometer’s plastic cap.

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll–” he starts, already beginning to gag. 

“I’d rather you blow before I medicate you.” Laura gives a sideways smile.

Bucky reluctantly lets her slip the device into his mouth. As expected, saliva pools immediately, sour and gummy around his teeth. An attempt to swallow without moving his tongue sets off a choked retch, and before he’s fully aware of what’s happened, he’s hanging off the edge of the sofa, spitting bile and mucous into the bin while Laura pats him between the shoulder blades.

“101,” Laura says when he’s finished.

“Huh?” Bucky drags a shaky hand across his mouth.

“Your temp.”

“Oh.”

“Think you can manage some pills?” Laura asks. She flips over a few options to check the dosing, then hands him five assorted tablets and gel caps. 

“Really? I’m allowed–” Bucky breaks off in a wet cough.

“Well, I’m watching you, aren’t I?” Laura reminds him softly. “Extra meds are necessary sometimes. You know that.” She makes her way toward the kitchen, where she pulls a case of juice boxes from one of the grocery bags. “You’re not hurting yourself, and you’re not getting high. And you’re damn lucky my kids don’t like strawberry kiwi.”

Bucky tries to smile, but all he can do is pull his mouth into a straight line. Better than a scowl, he supposes. He guesses he just looks sick.

“What’re you gonna–” Bucky pauses to clear his throat as Laura hands him a drink and looks pointedly at the pills in his palm. “What’re you gonna tell Steve?”

“That he needs his radar system recalibrated,” Laura says with a laugh. “No, really. That you’re not feeling well. And that you’re _not feeling well_.”

“Hm.” The meds sting a little as they pass down Bucky’s raw throat.

“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. Then he coughs. “I guess.”

“It’s a good guess,” Laura replies. “Because I know.”


End file.
